


Coda: Decking, Decisions And Discussions (1980-1988)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [317]
Category: Frozen (2013), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Cake, Death from Old Age, Embarrassment, F/M, Heaven, M/M, Nobility, Police, Politics, Royalty, Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ The Holmes and Watson lineages continued; the exciting eighties. Someone in Heaven finally stops waiting, a Buckingham Palace garden-party involves decking although not the wooden variety and there is a 'discussion' about politics. A certain seraph may or may not be interfering in the timeline (hint: he is). And an American cop does not have to work hard to solve a pastry-based disappearance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vignahara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vignahara/gifts).



_(Trelawney Hawke (1983-1969) was the grandson of Sherlock Holmes I, while Tantalus Holmes (1884-1980) was technically Sherlock's nephew, the son of his sister-in-law Rachael and Prince Tane of Strafford Island)._

**1980 (Earth-time)**

**Heaven**

Tantalus stared at the small cottage in silence.

“Say something”, Trelawney urged. “I didn't wait eleven years for you to come up here and be a mime!”

“It's our old cottage”, Tantalus said at last. “I thought.... you might want the Hall seeing as I made you miss out on it.”

“I made myself miss out on it because I wanted you more than some title”, Trelawney said. “I was so proud of Harry when he stood by you after I was gone; we know attitudes are changing down there but there will always be bigots like that housekeeper of his.”

“She wasn't missed!” Tantalus said firmly.

His friend's silence was notable. He looked at him warily.

“I may have sort of given her a rash”, he admitted. “Just by accident!”

He had so missed that look that said yes he was full of crap, but the man that he had loved and always would love still loved him anyway.

֍


	2. Chapter 2

_(Christian Holmes II, twenty-seven, is the great-grandson of Tantalus Holmes)._

**1982**

**Buckingham Palace, London, England**

Baron Harry Hawke sighed as he watched his grand-daughter come back through the crowds. It reminded the nobleman of the Red Sea parting, which observation he wisely kept to himself.

“Was that _really_ necessary, May?” he asked.

Mary Hawke huffed. She was not pretty in the conventional sense (which few people remarked upon) but she did have a short fuse when provoked (which only those with precious little sense like the female currently prostrate on the grass remarked on, and then never more than once).

“They were making fun of Chris”, she said, “just because like mine his skin is a bit darker than usual. What do they expect from someone descended from a Polynesian prince? I put them right.”

“You rendered Lady Thornbury unconscious”, her grandfather said in a tone of mild admonishment. “Much as she is an annoying overly made-up harridan with little sense, no class and less manners, a royal garden-party might perhaps not be considered the best place to have done that.”

“The Queen was smiling”, Mary's half-brother Thor put in unhelpfully. 

His grandfather just looked at him and he mock-zipped his lips. His friend Tom sniggered unhelpfully. Mary glared at them both.

“I rather thought that you were going to work up slowly to approaching your cousin The Muscled Mountaineer”, her father said. “Apparently not.”

“Excuse me?”

Mary Hawke span round angrily.

“Now look here.... oh! It's you.”

It was indeed Mr. Christian Holmes, the handsome object of her affections, her fourth cousin once removed and the reason why the St. John Ambulance were still attending Lady Amelia Thornbury. Mary blushed bright red; this could not be worse. At least she hadn't simpered at the fellow like so many of the other women here.

If either her brother or her brother's lover sniggered, she would be borrowing one of the soldiers' bayonets for somewhat unauthorized purposes!

“May wants to ask you out”, Thor grinned, making kissing motions.

Mary Hawke made a mental note to do something very bad to her sibling later, assuming that she did not die of embarrassment beforehand. Mr. Christian Holmes smiled; his mocha skin tone apart he looked very like the drawings of the famous detective whose surname he bore, which was a little odd as that gentleman was actually her ancestor, not his.

“My grandfather was most impressed with that right uppercut”, Mr. Holmes said gesturing to where the elderly Mr. Carl Holmes sat at a table, very clearly failing at hiding a smile. “Would you like to take a walk with me? Believe me when I say that my desire to keep my limbs attached will ensure that I do not try anything.”

Mary wished fervently but no apocalypse happened. Dammit again!

“She probably wouldn't mind if you did”, Tom put in. “Best watch out for the right hook as well.”

Mary added to her already long list of Bad Things To Do To Annoying Half-Brothers And Their Lovers but nodded and left with the Adon.... fellow.

֍

_Postscriptum: Mary Hawke married her Muscled Mountaineer later that same year. It would be nice to say that her half-brothers did not embarrass her horribly at her wedding but.... oh come on!_

֍


	3. Chapter 3

_(Christopher 'Kristoff' Macdonald, now thirty-three, is the great-great-grandson of Fraser Macdonald I. Kristoff's lover Eugene Fitzherbert, the same age, is the grandson of the James who helped out the original Sherlock and John in their final years in the cottage)._

**1983**

**Isfield, East Sussex, England**

Eugene was headed down to another of Kris' delicious cooked breakfasts – seriously, it was a good thing they had so much sex the way the horny bastard kept trying to fatten him up – when a shadow loomed behind the door glass and the bell rang. Sighing, he pulled his dressing-gown around him and went to open it, hoping that it was not those damn Jehovah's Witnesses again.

Worse. It was political canvassers. Labour presumably, from the red rosettes they were wearing.

“Good morning!” the young man said far too brightly. “We're here to canvass for the forthcoming by-election.”

Eugene smiled to himself when he noted the woman with the young man was looking at him in a certain way that would have greatly annoyed Kris. And an annoyed Kris..... was always interesting, even if Eugene was sometimes unable to walk afterwards. 

“We shall be supporting Mr. Peters, the independent”, Eugene said shortly. 

“But why?” the young man demanded. “I mean, he is one of those soldiers who went off in that disgraceful Falklands campaign last year. And he actually lives with a _man!”_

“Problems?”

Kris had come up behind him, silent as ever, and had wrapped two beefy arms around the smaller man. He was staring at the newcomers as if he was seriously considering adding them to the breakfast menu. The young man gulped and took a step back.

“No!” he said in an impressively high voice. “Sorry for disturbing you. Bye!”

He left quickly, his female companion scurrying after him though not without a last look at Eugene. The shorter man shuddered as the grip round him tightened.

“Breakfast”, Kris muttered. “Then we can go upstairs and 'discuss' what just happened.”

Eugene shuddered most pleasurably. He knew exactly what form that 'discussion' would likely take. And he was quite right!

֍


	4. Chapter 4

_('Shere' is pronounced 'sheer' as in the sheer size of something large. An interesting and, as it turned out, entirely accurate choice of name, although it came about because he was born during a visit to friends in Surrey and made his entrance to the world in the village of Shere, near Guildford, Shere Holmes is the great-great-great-grandson of Sherlock Holmes I)._

**1986 (Earth-time)**

**Heaven**

They do say that the devil finds work for idle hands. Fortunately Lucifer had his hands (and certain other parts) more than full these days with Gadreel, so it might have seemed that there was less potential for trouble than would otherwise have been the case.

Note the careful usage of the conditional future tense, 'might have'.

Castiel smiled as he looked down from Heaven. A smile was rare these days; seven years into his absence from his hunter, and his beloved's so-called father's parenting skills – poor Dean would need a lot of sex to make up for it all one day. Luckily he had his very own guardian angel all too ready to oblige.

Several thousand miles away from his beloved a couple were sat surrounded by books, and one did not need to be a seraph to know that they were undergoing that most tortuous of ordeals, choosing a name for the baby that lay gurgling quietly in his cot. 

“Christian after me and Harry after your half-brother”, Christian Holmes said. “What shall we call this one?”

The angel smiled slightly. There was the faint sound of reality undergoing a very marginal adjustment.

“Shere”, his wife Mary said. 

Her husband stared at her in surprise.

“Because of where he was born?” he hazarded. He had been grateful for the hospital matron who, after his wife had delivered their third son, had pulled him into a side-room and given him a stiff drink. 

“That and his size”, she said. “I feel he will be worthy of the name.”

Her husband looked at their newest family member. Nearly ten pounds when he had emerged into the light – his hand had still not fully recovered from his wife's death-grip – and with night-black skin like his grandmother Violet. 

“It just seems right”, his wife said. “We women know these things.”

Very wisely her husband did not press her on that. And up in Heaven an angel smiled.

֍


	5. Chapter 5

_(Edward Watson, now twenty-eight and the great-great-grandson of John Watson I, is the 'stone fox' mentioned earlier; he had indeed married Jean Macdonald whose relatives had continued to be as disgraceful as ever. St. John is pronounced 'sinjun'; its use as a first name likely started with the skilled English Civil War parliamentarian Oliver St. John (1598-1673))._

**1987 (Earth-time)**

**Heaven**

They do say that history repeats itself. Which considering that there are only so many ways in which Mankind can make such a complete and utter foul-up of things really should be expected. 

Of course sometimes history gets a little 'help'.

Castiel smiled as he looked down from Heaven. Eight years without his beloved Dean and it served that brute of a father right that he had gotten that painful rash the other day for the way he mistreated his sons. The angel would make it up to his beloved one day. Horizontally, vertically and diagonally!

Once again a couple were sat surrounded by books, and one still did not need to be a seraph to know that they were undergoing that most tortuous of ordeals, choosing a name for the baby that lay gurgling quietly in his cot. 

“Elaine after your middle name and Tantalus, Ajax and Achilles because I'm a Greek buff who wants to traumatize my offspring as advance payment for two decades of childhood angst”, Edward Watson said with a smile. “Your choice this time for sure. What shall we call him?”

The angel smiled slightly. There was the faint sound of reality undergoing a very marginal adjustment.

“St. John”, Jean said.

Her husband stared at her in surprise.

“I suppose he does look a bit like our famous forebear”, he said. “Why the saint bit? He could just be John the fourth.”

“It just seems right”, his wife said. “We women know these things.”

Very wisely her husband did not press her on that. And up in Heaven an angel smiled again.

֍


	6. Chapter 6

_(No noble blood himself but this is Lady Violet Hawke's nephew and the great-great-great-grandson of The Great Cake Detective himself. Victor Henriksen III (born 1969) is first cousin once removed to the Shere and St. John mentioned above)._

**1988**

**Kansas City, Kansas, United States of America**

Officer Jeffrey Russell stared incredulously at the empty cake-box.

“Dammit Henriksen, that's the second time this week!”

His rookie colleague Officer Victor Henriksen blushed and tried unsuccessfully to lick away the incriminating crumbs from around his mouth. 

“Sorry”, he muttered looking anything but.

“I saw that _Sherlock Holmes_ on the box last night”, Jeff sighed. “You're as bad as your ancestor in them; no cake was safe around him either!”

“I'm not that bad”, the rookie said defensively.

“Really?” Jeff said raising an eyebrow. “Remember what happened when that idiot Berkeley chose _you_ to go and pick up twenty-four doughnuts for the chief's birthday last week? Didn't quite bring back all twenty-four, did you now?”

His colleague blushed. Again.

“Cream fillings” he muttered defensively. “My favourite.”

 _“Every_ type of cake is your favourite!” Jeff snarked. “I only hope you're as good as putting away criminals as you are pastries. You're buying me an extra doughnut next time we hit the diner to make up for it!”

֍


End file.
